The Intrusion: Baltin Prequel Read online

  “Because I figure the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

  For some reason, something inside of me deflates. Of course, not because he actually likes me or something. That would be ridiculous.

  When I reach the front yard, without a word, I turn around and yank the bamboo sticks from his arms.

  His expensive cologne scents the air when he moves toward me. He shrugs, grabs the stress ball from his pocket, and squeezes. “Okay, well, maybe I had an ulterior motive—and not just because I thought you’d enjoy getting back at Emory.”

  “Don’t care.” I jam the end of the stick into the ground, but the dirt’s dry and it won’t sink deep enough. Wiping a drop of sweat from my brow, I try again. “Go away, Max. I want nothing to do with you.”

  “Shit, Tilly, give me a chance.” His fingers wrap around the wood, and the senior ring, with its topaz gemstone, seems to wink at me. One quick thrust and it sits steady and straight. “Originally, I wanted to ask you to the dance tonight, but one look at your face yesterday and I was afraid you’d shoot me down. Of course, it’s a moot point now since nothing works and there’s not any electricity.”

  My heart beats so loudly I can hear it pounding against my eardrums. No one has ever asked me to a dance, or even asked me out. I lick my lips and search his face.

  Those blue eyes, circled by a darker ring of cobalt, stare back at me. A strand of brown hair drapes over an eyebrow, threatening to fall into his vision. Day-old stubble covers his jaw. He is kind of cute.

  Yeah, in a rough, criminally insane kind of way.

  Still, there’s something in his face, an unspoken question.

  “Thought you said I didn’t look like the dancing type of girl?” Turning, I grip another bamboo stick and try to place it five feet away. The stupid thing won’t penetrate the dry, cracked dirt.

  “You don’t.” His fingers brush mine as he twists the stick, pushing it deeper. “But I wanted to get back at Emory, make her jealous.” Seemingly satisfied with its placement, he wipes his hands together and tilts his head.

  “So you wanted to use me again.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I tap my foot, trying not to show my disappointment.

  “Yeah.” His head twists to take in the growing crowd of people carrying covered dishes to the tables lining the road. “Guess that makes me a bad person, huh?” The look on his face, dejected and embarrassed, is at odds with the guy I know—at least by reputation.

  He always strolled the hall as if ready to bash people’s heads in, but this evening, with the lowering sun shining in his face, I remember he’s little more than a boy.

  I can’t decide if should be offended or laugh. “Oh, fine.” I point to the next spot, and he jabs a torch into the ground. “I guess I forgive you.” A lone giggle sneaks out. “You definitely took my mind off of things for a little while with that crazy stunt.”

  His face breaks into a dazzling smile and he offers a high five.

  Shaking my head, against my better judgment, I slap my palm to his.

  He grabs it and laces his fingers through mine. “If you’re not doing anything tomorrow, wanna hang out?”

  The feel of his warm skin makes me uncomfortable, and I yank my hand away and shrug, not meeting his glance. “Dunno. I’m going to help Daddy with organizing a patrol, or maybe bike into Abilene to see how things are going there, so I’m not sure how much time I’ll have.”

  “Great. I’ll come with you. I’d love to help.”

  “Did you invite yourself?” I laugh, unable to hide a grin.

  “No.” He walks away a few feet and inserts the next torch. “You just invited me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Without air conditioning, I tossed and turned all night. Sunrise creeps through my blinds and I drag myself from bed.

  This having no power sucks.

  Since there’s no running water, Daddy rigged a pulley system above the well opening with a small bucket at the end. We’ve only been using it to force the toilet to flush, since Mamma has a couple of cases of bottled water in the pantry, but it would be nice to take a bath.

  Sighing at the bathtub, I use the toilet then squirt some toothpaste on my toothbrush and brush, using a few drops of bottled water to swish in my mouth.

  Finishing up, I wander into the kitchen.

  Mamma, dressed in a forest green tank top and cargo shorts, is frowning at a line of Mason jars on the counter.

  “What’s going on?” I poke my head into the pantry and grab a cereal bar.

  “I’m wondering how I’m going to do canning without the stove.” She wipes her hands on a towel. “I can’t even sterilize the jars properly because I don’t know if the grill will generate enough heat to reach the right temperature.” That little line of worry appears between her brows.

  “Well, if it came down to it, can’t we build a fire pit or something in the backyard?”

  She taps a jagged nail against her chin. “Hmm. It could work.” A tentative smile forms. “But I’m sure we won’t need to. The power’s gotta come on soon.”

  It’s not only the power that’s the issue, Mamma. Even though I want to say this, I keep my mouth shut. Reminding her no one’s phone or car works is probably not the best way to keep her anxiety in check.

  “Well, we need a fire pit anyway. Daddy’s got all those old bricks out there on the side of his shed. Might as well use them for something.” Rummaging through the cabinets, I find a plastic container of unopened coffee. “It’d be fun to sit in the backyard in the fall and roast marshmallows.”

  “Oh, what a great idea.” Her eyes sparkle, and she points to the coffee in my hand. “Hankering for your caffeine?”

  “Yes. I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to make coffee on the grill.”

  “Well…” She bends and opens one of the bottom cabinets. Pushing her arm and shoulder inside, she digs for a few minutes, the muffled sounds of dishes clinking against one another reaching my ears. “It just so happens you’re in luck. This little camping pitcher should work fine.”

  The dented, silver container plops into my hand. “Now, fill this with water and after it boils, put your coffee in a filter, tie it off, and voila, Tilly becomes human again.”

  “Ha.” I snatch the needed items and give her a peck on the cheek. “Thank you. You’re a jack of all trades, you know. You’re our secret weapon for survival.”

  Her smile falters, and I want to kick myself for not watching my mouth. I try to change the subject. “You and Daddy want some?”

  Shaking her head, she snickers. “I don’t know that it’ll be fit for consumption if you’re making it.”

  I roll my eyes. “So not funny.”

  “But true.” With a quick shrug, she turns and inspects her jars again.

  With a sigh, I stalk out the back door.

  Daddy, an early riser like Mamma, is tinkering with the well again. “Hey there, Half-pint.”

  “Mornin’, Daddy.” Popping the top of the grill, I clean out ash from last night and place fresh charcoal inside. “Can I borrow your lighter? I’m going to make some coffee.”

  He tosses it through the air, and I fumble it into my hands.

  Putting the flame to the instant-light charcoal, I glance at him again. “Whatcha doing?”

  “Oh, I’m trying to figure out an easier way to get water, besides using this bucket.”

  “Why?” While the charcoal slowly burns, I move to stand beside him.

  “Because—” He stands and wipes the dirt from his hands. “—I don’t think the power’s coming back.” His eyes are serious. “And even if it did, everyone I’ve talked to said anything with circuitry is broken, which means electricity is useless.”

  I fight back a shiver that has nothing to do with the weather. “What does this mean, then? Are we going to die?”

  “No.” His voice is fierce, and he grabs both of my upper arms. “Absolutely not. I won’t let anything happen to you and your mother.” A hand gestures toward the gard
en against the fence in the back corner of the yard. “We’ve already got food growing. Your mother has tons of stuff canned and stocked in the cellar, and we have a water well. Everything we need to survive this year is here for us.” He lets go and glances to the houses across the alley. “The problem is going to be keeping it if things get bad.”

  “People won’t try to steal our stuff, will they?”

  “If things get desperate, there’s no telling what will happen. Which means we need to try to nip it in the bud beforehand. If I can convince the community to share and help each other out, I don’t see why anyone would have to go without, but it’s going to mean hard work by everyone.”

  “This is so crazy. I can’t believe, in one night, we lost everything. It doesn’t even make sense. Wouldn’t the government come help everyone?”

  “Not if they’re also affected.” He grabs my elbow and moves us to the picnic table, where he and I take a seat. “I think whatever this is, it’s big. Maybe even worldwide. Haven’t you noticed there’ve been no planes in the sky, no trains barreling across the tracks, and not one sliver of traffic from the highway?”

  “So, you think it’s a terrorist attack?”

  “I’m not sure. It could be natural, like solar flares from the sun, but I don’t think so.”

  A shiver crawls across my arms.

  “After talking to the guys, and hearing about what the news was reporting right before it happened, I think…” He rubs his beard. “Shit, I sound crazy, but I think it really might be…” a humorless laugh escapes, “otherworldly.”

  Shaking, I let loose a harsh tremor. “That’s not funny.”

  “I know, Tilly.” A quick glance through the shady trees to the sky. “If it was another country or force wanting to take over, I think we’d know by now, one way or another.”

  I prop my chin into my palm. He really is serious. My dad is one of the most skeptical people I’ve ever known, and if he’s convinced aliens caused this mess…

  “Do not mention this to your mother. She’s already under enough strain as it is, okay? I don’t want her to get worked up again. Maybe I’m wrong.”

  Needing something to do with my hands, I get up and check the water in the pitcher, which is boiling. I drop the little handmade packet of coffee into the steaming liquid, staring at the rapid bubbles. The nutty aroma fills the air.

  “If what you’re saying is true,” I rub my thigh, “then we have no hope, do we?”

  His lips flatten. “As long as we’re alive, there’s always hope, Half-pint.”

  I turn back to the coffee with dread thrumming through my bones and peer at the turquoise sky peeking through the leaves.

  Who’s up there, and what do you want? I have a feeling my little town will be better off not knowing.

  Chapter Twelve

  Daddy convinces several neighbors to lend us their bikes, and he, Mr. Miller, and I coast the street.

  I keep expecting Max to show up, and after several minutes and hundreds of feet down the road, a twinge of disappointment tightens my chest. I don’t know why—it’s not like he and I really know one another. But still, for a few minutes last night, it was nice to feel a connection, even if it was the criminal kind.

  Clearing my thoughts, I focus on the ride. It’s Sunday morning, and on a normal weekend, most people would be attending church services. Instead, houses are dark and shuttered.

  But combating this unusual calm are the raucous calls of birds in the pecan, mesquite, and oak trees. The crack of a bat hitting a baseball or softball cuts through the birdsong, and then several unseen kids yell in delight. A calico cat sits on the sidewalk and bathes itself, giving me a lazy glance as I pass her by.

  “How far are we gonna ride?” I ask, shifting my butt on the high seat, trying to get a better position since my legs are apparently shorter than its owner.

  “Oh, probably just to the outskirts. There’s no way we’re heading all the way into Abilene until I know what’s going on inside.”

  “Yo, Tilly,” a male voice shouts from behind.

  My breathing increases. Max.

  Daddy glances over his shoulder and rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe you invited him.”

  “He’s not so bad.” I shrug and pedal slower, giving Max a chance to catch up.

  He slides in beside me, a knowing grin lighting his face. “You were trying to leave me, weren’t you?”

  “Maybe.” My legs pump faster. “I didn’t figure you really wanted to hang out today and were just being nice last night.”

  “I meant it.” He laughs, the sound not quite as annoying as yesterday. “You’re my kind of people.”

  Daddy and Mr. Miller pull ahead, their voices fading.

  Several miles pass. Wheat fields and pastures between the mesquite trees and cacti fly past. Wind whooshes against my face, sending little tendrils of hair into my eyes.

  I cast sidelong glances at Max every few minutes. What’s his deal? Why’s he suddenly so interested in my business?

  “You said your dad’s away on business or something?” I ask, finally breaking the comfortable silence between us.

  “Yeah.” He cranes his neck behind, as if habit forces him to check for traffic. “He…” a small laugh escapes, “he travels a lot.” One shoulder shrugs, and he yanks the collar of his burgundy t-shirt from his chest, fanning it for air.

  “That sucks. So you have no way to get ahold of him, huh?” Like I have no idea how Sissy’s doing.

  “No big loss—not really.” He stares ahead as if avoiding my reaction.

  “What a terrible thing to say.” My voice pitches higher. “I have a sister in Florida and the thought of not being able to talk to her for a few weeks terrifies me. What if she and Mark need help? What if things take longer? What if…” I don’t finish the thought. What if there really is something up there, from somewhere else, and they’re just biding their time until the next phase, like in all those alien invasion movies and books?

  “Sounds like you love your sister a lot.”

  “I do.” Nodding, I remove a bottle of water from the backpack strapped to my handlebars and drink. “I love my whole family. We may not be perfect, but I’d do anything for them. Though, I wouldn’t mind getting out of this dumpy little town.”

  Max licks his lips, eyeing the water bottle.

  “Here.” I fish in the bag and offer an extra one to him.

  “Thanks.” The tips of his fingers grasp the plastic, and his thumb rubs a circle on my inner wrist. He smiles.

  I jerk away, unsure if it really happened or if I’m overreacting. Heat burns my cheeks, and it’s not just from the sun.

  Chuckling, he tips the bottle to his lips and takes a quick swig, keeping his gaze on the men and road ahead. “My family’s… complicated.”

  “Well—” I swerve to avoid a pothole. “—we have our moments, too.”

  “I wish I’d gotten to know you before—” He lifts the clear bottle and gives a vague gesture toward the ranchland flying by, the bikes, then toward Daddy and Mr. Miller. “—all this. You’re like a cute, tiny little package of dynamite waiting for the right person to light you up.” He drains the water and tosses the container to the ground, the sound of the tumbling, empty plastic bouncing against the asphalt fading away the farther I travel.

  “That’s a weird-ass analogy.” I’m not sure if his comment is a compliment or not. “Are you saying you’re afraid I’ll explode or something?”

  “No. I’m saying I don’t know what to expect from you.” His fingers comb his long bangs from his eyes, and he pierces me with a serious stare. “It’s refreshing. Plus, you’re—” He swallows. “—really cute.”

  I blink, shock and embarrassment heating my blood, and almost crash into a ditch before I manage to wrestle the front wheel from the edge of the road.

  Panting, I cycle faster, catching up to my dad. No guy has ever called me cute before. What do I do? How do I act?

  I decide to ignore his c
omment and pray he doesn’t mention it again because I’m not sure how I feel about him. He has no compulsion breaking the law, yet it was his ring. If Emory was refusing to return it, then I can sympathize with him. A little.

  A metal sign flies past, the white lettering stark against the purple background.

  Welcome to Eulan—Home of the Pirates.

  The community, located four miles from Callahan, has roughly one hundred fifty residents. It’s barely more than a spot on the road compared to my town of three thousand people.

  He coasts in next to me, keeping his attention ahead. Several strands of chestnut hair fall into his eyes again, the wind whipping them back and forth. He’s traded his grungy black pants from yesterday for plain blue jeans with sneakers—no sign of the angry, belligerent biker on display.

  “What the hell?” Daddy pushes on his handlebar brakes and throws his feet against the ground, skidding to a stop.

  Mr. Miller does the same.

  Across the road lies a double row of wooden sawhorses wrapped in barbwire reaching all the way across the blacktop and into the bar ditches on either side.

  Daddy’s gaze roves over the blocked intersection. A small convenience store lies to the left, its windows dark, and Daddy’s eyes skim the building. “I didn’t expect this so soon.”

  “Expect what?” I park my bike and stretch my leg muscles, then gulp more water.

  “Someone blocking off the street.” His eyes scour the railroad tracks to our right, then sweep across the brushy land to the left. “Come on, we should head back. It’s too exposed out here.”

  “Ricky, we need to see what’s going on in Abilene.” Mr. Miller mops his brow with a white handkerchief decorated with purple circles, then stuffs it into a front pocket. “Let’s swing around the barricade and keep going. There’s no one here.”

  “Half-pint, get back on your bike.” Daddy’s voice is rough and low, almost a growl. “Now.”

  Fear courses through my veins and I don’t argue. Daddy didn’t survive all those deployments by ignoring instinct.

  Max’s eyebrows lower. “What is it, Mr. Morgan?” He positions his bike closer to mine.